


seeing (is believing)

by soulmuzik



Series: a true soulmate is a mirror [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Abbie Mills/Ichabod Crane, Off-canon au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmuzik/pseuds/soulmuzik
Summary: [drabble]It’ll never be that easy, and both of them know it--but they’ll take what they can get.





	seeing (is believing)

Abbie has always hated the dark. She’s never liked not seeing everything in front of her, even when it wasn’t something she wanted to see. She hadn’t trusted her own eyes for a very long time, so when she finally did, she had to learn how to trust the real tangible things that she could see infront of her, whether they could be justified, or not. It helped her not be afraid. Fear was a commodity no one could afford, anymore.

“Any reason your gun is still drawn?”

_Dean Winchester._

Abbie ground her teeth; a habit her jaw had gotten into during their runs together. Her eyes darted around in the dark, the high trees of the woods they were traversing blocking out the sky and casting them in shadow. Her ears were a little less trustworthy in this environment; was it them, or some unseemly enemy cracking the twigs on the ground and breaking the night silence?

“Same reason yours is”, his head turns so their eyes can meet and tell her how much he appreciates her sarcasm, “ _I suppose_.”

The way he hummed and blew air from his nose made music in the still air of the night around them. He would rather dance around saying he was afraid out loud. It wasn’t in this man’s nature, Abbie was beginning to realize.

When Abbie met Dean Winchester and his brother on the outskirts of town, at her sister’s behest, her suspicion had only increased. Neither man ever told her and Crane how they’d come upon the kind of trouble Abbie and Crane had found themselves in, and she didn’t like secrets. Not anymore. Not when demons and dead men from centuries past were bringing about the apocalypse.

_The second_ , as Dean corrected.

Abbie didn’t like him.

She’d blame fate, then, that the rest of the gang had gotten themselves spirited away by a gang of witches who weren’t too happy about their quest to stop Moloch’s evil plans.

Leaving Abbie with Dean as her only source of back up.

In the woods.

In the dark. 

And she didn’t _like_ him.

“Not gonna turn that thing on me, are you?”, he says, dry, his head angling toward her so she can see the way his lips pull up in the little light they get whenever the trees up ahead break and let the moon in. He speaks like maybe he can read her mind. Or her body--she’d never been very good at masking her feelings. She tries to breath out some of the tension trapped between her shoulders.

“Not unless you suddenly become a threat”, her grip tightens on the hilt of the gun, “isn’t that what the guns are for? The witches?” The path before them isn’t a path at all; winding and widening and shrinking of its own volition, like the trees are moving. Maybe they are--she’s seen stranger things.

“I’m just sayin’. Your shoulders are halfway up to your earlobes; you ain’t looking too relaxed right now”, his words feel distant, because he says them while he checks the shadows behind the trees, and Abbie thinks _‘you either’_ with a snort while she does the same.

“Look, my people...hell, and _your brother_ just got snatched by a bunch of deranged witches. This isn't really a relaxing situation.” She doesn't see Dean’s hand, but it darts out between them and he snatches her into his side, body pressed against an enormous oak. He’s taken the brunt of it, what with her weight pressing into him and his weight pressing into the tree. “What the _fu_ \--”, his hand comes up to cover her mouth, and she has half a mind to bite him when she sees them.

There are three of them, mostly covered by the shadows in their black robes, all for the white of their eyes clouding over the whole iris and making them look undead. They move in a tight formation, their feet never touching the ground. Abbie’s whole body goes still, but she can still hear her heart in her ears and can feel Dean’s heart moving just as erratically at her back, their beats a staccato rhythm as they watch the witches disappear behind the trees.

His hand lowers from her, and she takes the opportunity to put space between them, bringing her hand up to silently motion for them to follow the witches.

At the same time that he does.

She purses her lips at him, and the serious furrow of his brow flattens into a deadpan at the sight of the mirroring motions their hands make. They both drop those free hands back down to their guns, and he concedes, nodding his head to her. She rolls her eyes, and drops their silent conversation. She leads them through the thicket of the woods, making the decision to trust her eyes. They are good, even if her surroundings are not, and a cabin comes into view, the cloaked women disappearing into it. Abbie holds up her fist to stop Dean, who pushes her hand down when he comes to stand beside her. She whips her head to him, unamused.

“Think we got made?” He whispers, the gruff of his voice making his words hard to hear. She thinks it may have something to do with the grim set of his jaw and far off look in his eye, like he’s preparing for the worst. Abbie allows herself to wonder, for a moment, what he’s seen to cause that. She thinks back to the first time they’d met, when she’d flat out asked and he hasn't said a word.

Maybe he didn't want to talk about it for a reason.

“Hey”, she says, her voice a little stronger than she was feeling, “they’re gonna be okay.” Neither of them knew that. But he didn't say it, and that was at least a step in the right direction.

“Plan?” he nodded at her, checking his clip as he waited on her word. Abbie looked around them, her ears trained to the noises the woods were making. Their backs were each pressed to a tree, their bodies out of the direct line of sight of the cabin. She felt the wind, this time, while she stood with her back pressed into the trunk. She tried not to think about it.

“I saw a chained door beside the house. I’m assuming that leads to the basement.”

“Too obvious”, Dean shook his head, “that’s probably the spot of choice for the ritual sacrifices.” She thinks he means to sound ironic, but the way his voice shakes on _sacrifice_ gives him away. She doesn’t dwell on it.

“I know. So we cut the locks, come in through the backdoor--interrupt their _party_ , and then leave through the basement.” Her smile is a little cocky, and it feels foreign, but good. Dean snorts, and its a soft sound that she thinks might be a little foreign to him, too. Neither of them are thinking about the dark, or their families in that cabin and how they might find them. For a moment, and just a small one, they live in this little space where he’s kind of impressed with her and she’s basking in it. And that’s it.

It’ll never be that easy, and both of them know it--but they’ll take what they can get.

“If it all goes to hell, I’m blaming you. _Without shame_ ”, he smiles, and succeeds with his sarcasm this time.

 

|*~*~*|

 

For the record, her plan works.

Sure, the witches made them while they were breaking the lock and the ritual sacrifice was happening in the _living room_ , but they’d brought the fight to the basement, giving Jenny, Crane, and Sam the opportunity to take on the few witches that hadn’t left to fight Dean and Abbie. And they didn’t leave through the basement. They kind of jumped through the window after setting the witch cabin on fire.

But no one died.

Witches notwithstanding.

Abbie laid on the ground, panting air into her lungs. Dean laid to her left, Sam to his right, and Jenny and Crane on Abbie’s other side. None of them seemed to want to move, their bodies sore from the bruises and cuts and burns from the fight they’d just survived. “I for one”, Jenny says, hoarse voice breaking their silence, “wouldn't have minded if we’d just used the front door.”

 

|*~*~*|

 

Abbie had kicked a lot of habits when she was young, and had decided to live straight, but she looks over the motel banister and wishes she still smoked. It may not do anything for her now, but she could use some tension release. Her shoulders still felt too high and too tight. She always like this after a fight; in it even after the moment was over. It was something she was finding she didn't need to carry. But she was a work in progress.

“Look at you”, she hears him before she sees him, his voice ironic, “ _relaxing_.”

Abbie looks at Dean, who leans on the banister beside her. He’s bandaged and clean, like she is, but the cut on his forehead is still bleeding. She doesn’t reach out and fix the bind on top of it. She thinks that maybe they’ve touched each other enough for one night, her body reacting to the warmth of his proximity. When it shouldn’t. At _all_.

Relaxation, it cannot grasp? But _Dean Winchester?_

She inhales, eyes returning to the moon, “something like that.” She hates the dark, but she can see the road, stretching on in front of them like it doesn't end. She can see the parking lot, and hear the people below getting ice and it’s not so empty, like it was in the woods. That’s what she really hates, isn't it? The silence. “How about we not leave those three alone ever again.”

“I got a bruised rib that has to agree with you”, he grins, the moon no longer hidden and the pull of his lips no longer shadowed. She remembers his eyes in the woods, when he allowed himself to be afraid. Or his smile when he was a little impressed and didn’t want to admit it. She’s been trusting her eyes for a while now, and she knows an invitation when she sees it.

“Thank you”, she starts, pulling her eyes up to his, and their bodies moving incrementally closer, on their own, “it’s good to know I can trust you.”

Like him? _Eh._

But Abbie can definitely trust Dean.

His smile is brief, when it takes his lips. He nods, his eyes sliding over her shoulder, up the exposed skin of her neck and back to her face, “feeling’s mutual.”

She remembers the warmth of his body. The safety of it. The invitation.

“Leftenant”, Crane’s voice breaks the spell and her head turns to him, willing her body to follow. His arms are crossed over his chest and his lips are set in a firm line, his brown eyes giving away his intentions.

 He didn’t like Dean, either, when they’d first met.

Some things may, but others don’t seem to change. “Miss Jenny requires your presence.”

Abbie nods, glances once more at Dean in goodbye, and crosses the threshold back into the room first. Dean’s eyes remain on Crane’s as he crosses in after Abbie.  She does not need to see them to know what’s going on, and she’ll deal with that problem later. One epiphany at a time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> need. to. write. something. Im not sure why I'm so blocked. But I totally am. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what yall thought. It helps a lot! I'd appreciate it.
> 
> Thanks:)


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